


get a clue

by PaleRose



Series: Horny Hinata [7]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Atsumu in a maid outfit, Bottom Miya Atsumu, Clue!AU, Costume Party, M/M, MSBY4, Murder mystery party, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Hinata Shouyou, cross dressing, halloween party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:09:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27305374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaleRose/pseuds/PaleRose
Summary: Atsumu stares at the little piece of paper he’s pulled from Bokuto's pumpkin head-shaped bucket.The Maid.--Atsumu draws the maid as his costume for the MSBY murder mystery party. Is he happy about it? No. Is Hinata happy about it? Absolutely.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou & Miya Atsumu, Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Series: Horny Hinata [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1882465
Comments: 37
Kudos: 258
Collections: finished





	get a clue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dzesi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dzesi/gifts), [ErisabesuFic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErisabesuFic/gifts).



> [NOW WITH BEAUTIFUL ART BY MONANIK](https://twitter.com/MONANIK2/status/1329200428521811968?s=20)

Atsumu stares at the little piece of paper he’s pulled from Bokuto's pumpkin head-shaped bucket. 

_The Maid._

“Okay, so who wants to switch with me?” Atsumu folds the piece of paper and shoves it into his pocket. There’s no way in hell he’s dressing up like a maid for this (dumb) murder mystery party Meian is planning in an attempt to incite team bonding. Why can’t they be like normal adults and just get shit-faced at a Halloween party at one of the many clubs in Tokyo? They can still dress up without having to participate in dinner theatre LARP-ing. This is the kind of shit that Osamu is into, not him. 

“Not everyone is interested in getting inebriated like you, Atsumu,” Sakusa had said, back when they all received the notifications for the event on their GoombleCalendar. 

Stupid Omi-kun, there are plenty of other things to do at a club that don’t involve drinking. Dancing, flirting… More dancing?

“What did you get, Atsumu-san? I got the professor, I don’t mind switching,” Hinata offers like the goddamn saint that he is. He can always count on Hinata to have his back whenever he’s in a pinch—that good, good setter-and-spiker relationship truly coming in clutch. Hinata would look _way_ better in a maid dress. A wave of goosebumps breaks out on Atsumu’s arms and legs at the mental image of a blushing Hinata, clad in a tiny black skirt, a frilly white apron, and lacy thigh-high stockings. Suddenly the only thing Atsumu wants from this cruel, cruel world is to see Hinata Shouyou—aka the star of nearly every single one of his wet dreams—in that goddamn maid costume. If Atsumu isn’t careful, he might actually start drooling on himself. 

“Oh, fuck ye—”

“Not so fast,” Sakusa cuts in and shoves his hand in Atsumu’s pocket, grabbing the piece of paper. 

“Omi-kun!” Atsumu jumps at the invasive feeling—leave it to Sakusa to spoil his daydream. 

Sakusa reads the paper for all of two seconds before crumpling it into a tiny ball and flicking it in Atsumu’s face. “Just as I thought—you’re not switching with anyone, Atsumu.” 

“Ouch! Omi-kun, what are ya tryin’ to do!? Blind me!?” Atsumu holds his (not) wounded face in his hands like the drama queen he is. 

“If anything, this further proves that you got the costume you deserve,” Sakusa deadpans. 

“What did Atsumu get, Omi-omi?” Bokuto asks.

“Go on, tell them what you got, Atsumu,” Sakusa teases, probably smirking underneath that mask because he knows it burns Atsumu so bad. 

“I got the maid,” Atsumu grumbles, barely audible. 

“Hm? What did you say, Atsumu-san?” Hinata blinks, cocking his head to the side like a confused puppy.

“Yeah, Tsum-Tsum, you gotta be louder!” Bokuto gives a demonstration, shouting at the top of his lungs that he drew the chef, earning him impressed golf claps from Hinata.

Meanwhile Sakusa, that greasy bastard, is snickering (a rare sight to behold) and covering his already-masked face with his hand. 

God, this is too painful.

Atsumu swallows. “I got the maid costume,” he says louder, cringing at himself so hard that his eyes screw shut. 

Sakusa bursts out in hysterics, doubling over and holding his stomach like it’ll fall out at any moment. 

“Are you serious!? I thought Meian was only joking when he put in that card!?” Bokuto joins Sakusa in a chorus of full, hearty laughter. 

“Aw, yuck it up! Ya bag of cocks!” Atsumu seethes, flashing his teammates his middle finger as his cheeks grow hot and his stomach twists. He expects this type of bullshit from ‘Samu. They’re twins, it’s allowed. Chucklefucks like Bokuto and Sakusa aren’t allowed to get his goat like this. He’ll be sure to get back at them for making him look like a complete idiot in front of Hinata one day. 

Speaking of which... 

Atsumu dares to look over his shoulder at Hinata. He’s staring at Atsumu with eyes blown so wide, Atsumu can barely see any color in them. The inky blackness rivals Sakusa’s, terrifying and endless. His face is pale—save for the lightest dust of pink in the apples of his cheeks and tips of his ears—and his mouth hangs open slightly. _Great, just great._ Hinata’s so shocked by the mental image he’s speechless! This costume party is going to be a complete disaster. 

\-- 

It’s a miracle Atsumu fits into the maid costume. 

The bodice is so tight he can barely breathe, and the plunging, frilled neckline reveals way too much of his chest. Lifting arms without the seams of the garment snapping in strained anguish is impossible. Seriously, Atsumu has used toilet paper that’s more durable than this flimsy thing. And worst of all, the full-seated bottom of the costume keeps riding up his ass with every clumsy step he takes (thanks to these God-forsaken high heels that Meian _insisted_ he wear to “complete the ensemble”). It adds a whole other layer of pain on top of the fact that his sweaty dick and balls are practically falling out of the costume. If it weren’t for the skirt—short as it may be—everyone on the team would get an eyeful of his hurting pride, because of course, he has to go commando. The costume would look stupid if he wore underwear! 

Clearly, Meian did not anticipate all one hundred and eighty-seven centimeters of Atsumu squeezing into this thing. Hinata would’ve been much better suited to wear it. And he would’ve looked way sexier in it than the human stuffed-sausage formerly known as Miya Atsumu. What a wasted opportunity, not to have the actual cutest player on the team dress in the costume—truly a travesty that Atsumu might never recover from. (And he’s not just thinking about it because he has an enormous crush on his teammate. No. Absolutely not.) 

As Atsumu waits in the dorm’s game room for party guests to interrogate him, he resolves himself to never slut-shame girls who wear costumes like this ever again. They are tougher than nails and braver than any US Marine for opting to willingly dress in an outfit that is two sizes too small. After about ten minutes of alone time consisting of self reflection and his hand beneath his skirt to adjust himself, the door to the room creaks open. 

His job as the maid is simple: act as a red herring and throw the other guests off the trail of the actual culprit. So far, he’s been leading everyone to believe that Sakusa, the widower, is the culprit. It’s honestly what Omi-kun deserves for laughing at him when he drew the maid card. Plus, the notion that he “killed” the host of the party as a revenge plot for sleeping with his deceased wife? Totally plausible. 

“Bonjour mon-cher, my name is Saison Marguerite and I am the maid of this estate. To what do I owe the, _how do you say,_ pleasure?” Atsumu puts on as convincing of a foreign accent as he can muster and bats his eyelashes at his new guest—an orange haired, bespectacled man wearing a turtleneck and tweed blazer. 

_Fuck, he looks so cute._

“Oh, excuse me! My name is Professor Ume, how do you do?” Hinata bows his head in salutations. “I’m here to investigate a recent murder that occured within this very mansion. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?” He adjusts his (fake) glasses and waits for a response. However, Atsumu’s thoughts can’t help but spiral into more tangents about how _fucking_ _adorable_ Hinata looks in his little ensemble. So soft, so pure. Sure, it’s a shame that Atsumu’s eyes will never feast upon the glory that is Hinata Shouyou in a maid outfit, but this is a good consolation prize. 

“Psst... Atsumu-san, your line?” Hinata whispers, breaking character for a moment. 

Atsumu blinks. _Oh, right_. He’s supposed to be participating in the murder mystery, not openly gawking at Hinata. How could he let himself fall prey to the wholesome appeal of Hinata and go on imagining how he wants to rip his clothes right off his body so he can taste the skin underneath?

_Could you even imagine?_

“Right, sorry,” he apologies hastily. “Ya can ask me any question ya want, but I’m telling ya, I did not do it!” Atsumu says dramatically (really leaning in to the whole melodrama of being a french maid caught up in a web of lies). He sits on the billiard table, crossing his arms and his muscular, fishnet-covered legs. 

“Yes, I already know you’re not the murderer,” Hinata says and walks over to Atsumu. He’s the first person not to outright accuse Atsumu. God knows Barnes came in shouting and pointing fingers—already dead-set on Atsumu being the killer. “I just want to ask you some questions about what you saw earlier when we all were in the study. If you don’t mind?” he asks and pulls a small notepad and pen out of the pocket in his blazer. 

“I’m all ears.” 

“Okay, so once the power came back on, Mr. Boddie’s, ah, _body_ was on the ground and you had just left the room, correct?” Hinata asks. 

“Yes, that’s correct,” Atsumu says, and uncrosses his legs so he can kick his dangling feet idly. 

“Where were you?” 

“I was heading over to the kitchen.” 

“Did you see anyone on the way?” 

“I saw Mr. Midori walking back from the bathroom.” 

Hinata nods his head and writes something down on his notepad. “Before or after the gunshot?” 

“After.” Which is a complete lie. He actually didn’t see Sakusa in the hall at all, but messing with the event’s timeline is always a fun way to turn the tides of the game in his favor. 

More writing. 

“Interesting,” Hinata’s voice trails off at the end as places the pad and pen back into his pocket. 

Atsumu stops kicking his feet. “Interestin’?” he says with a raised eyebrow. 

“Yes,” Hinata says, stroking his chin in thought as he walks to stand in between Atsumu’s legs. “I can’t believe you would lie to me like this, Marguerite,” he sighs, and sets a hand on the top of Atsumu’s thigh. Atsumu stares at the other man’s hand as fingers spread and begin to trace the gridded textile.

“Uh… What are ya doin’ there?” Atsumu asks, forcing himself to speak lower than comfortable in an attempt to keep his nerves from showing. Hinata and physical contact go hand in hand. It’s something he’s grown used to, despite it never failing to kickstart his heart into a frenzy. After all, Hinata spent two years in Brazil, where everyone greets each other with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. But Hinata’s never done anything like this—so deliberate and so intimate—with Atsumu before. 

“Hm? Doing what?” Hinata asks innocently, despite continuing to drag his hand along Atsumu’s thigh—his fingers dangerously close to the hemline of his skirt. 

“I think ya know what I mean,” Atsumu says on the drawn-out exhale of a breath he doesn’t realize he’s been holding, as Hinata’s hand slips beneath black and white fabric. 

“Oh, this?” Hinata spreads his hand wide and slides his palm up the inside of Atsumu’s thigh, cupping the juncture where his groin and leg meet. 

“Y-yeah, that.” Atsumu resists the urge to let his head fall back. The need to watch every move Hinata makes is stronger. He can’t miss any of it, just in case this all turns out to be some horny daydream. 

“I’m just appreciating your costume.” The tips of Hianta’s fingers brush the burning skin on Atsumu’s barely concealed cock through his fishnets. 

_Appreciating?_

“Is that what they call this?” Atsumu huffs, laughing through the way his skin tingles beneath Hinata’s touch. More like groping—who knew the Professor character would be such a pervert? Then again, is Atsumu really going to complain about getting felt up by his crush, even if it is pretend? 

Fuck no. 

“It’s what _I_ call this.” Hinata leans in and slips his hand beneath the waistband of the fishnets—his deft hand guiding Atsumu’s cock out of the leg hole of his leotard. He strokes it languidly and whispers in Atsumu’s ear. “There’s a lot to appreciate.” He squeezes Atsumu’s dick on the upward stroke and kisses his neck. 

Atsumu bites his lip, gripping the side of the pool table as his legs go limp. He spreads them wide so Hinata can have more access. His leotard clings to his skin, rubbing against his rock hard nipples—sweat-stained and infinitely more uncomfortable than it was before. 

But Atsumu doesn’t care. 

He’s waited far too long for Hinata to hold him, kiss him, _touch him_ like this. Like he wants to drown Atsumu in pleasure like he’s never known before. 

“ _Atsumu-san_ ,” Hinata moans as he licks the shell of Atsumu’s ear and pumps his dick faster—sweat and precum making everything so slick, so _hot._

And Atsumu can’t even respond, only whimper pathetically as the pressure in his abdomen builds at an exponential rate—a cord that’ll snap at any moment to ruin his costume. 

Not that he cares about the damn dress or anything.

“Did you really see Omi-kun in the hallway?” Hinata asks, and pumps faster. 

“N-no,” Atsumu admits through his blissed out fog. 

“Did you see anyone in the hall?”

_Faster._

“No.” 

“When you got to the kitchen, was the chef there?” 

“H-he was… N-not,”

_Faster_. 

“Where was he?!” 

“Going to meet with Mrs. Shiro!” Atsumu all but yells as Hinata jerks him off so fast that he’s teetering on the precipice of his orgasm—only a few more strokes and he’ll be able to achieve sweet release...

Then Hinata lets go of his dick. 

“As I thought,” he says, and retracts his hand from beneath Atsumu’s skirt. A brutal and absolutely painful shudder wracks Atsumu’s body at the loss of touch. His voice tears from his throat in a rough, carnal groan. 

_He was so fucking close._

Hinata reaches into pants pocket and pulls out a handkerchief to wipe his slick hands clean. “While I would love to stay and coax the culprit’s identity out of you with my hand alone, I think I want to figure out this mystery fair and square,” he says with a sweet smile as he puts the handkerchief back in his pocket. If Atsumu weren’t half dead from orgasm denial, he would be kicking Hinata’s ass right now. He can’t believe sweet Shouyou’s resorting to getting his hands (literally) dirty to solve the mystery. 

It’s devious... and very sexy. 

“Don’t worry, though. When this is all done, I want to give you a proper—” his eyes flicker downward at Atsumu’s disheveled body before he plants a kiss on Atsumu’s flushed cheek and brushes sweat stained bangs out of his face—“... _thank you_ for helping me out. If that’s okay with you?” he shyly asks for permission, despite his initial boldness. 

Atsumu nods, swallowing his heart back down into his chest. Now that he knows this isn’t just part of Hinata’s character choice, he needs to know how this… _rendezvous_ will end. 

\-- 

They agree to meet in Hinata's dorm after the party’s thrilling conclusion. 

The culprit, well _culprits,_ of the murder are none other than Mrs. Shiro (played by Thomas in his mother’s extra large muumuu dress) and her “lover” Bokuto (who refused to go by any name other than his own) the chef. Thanks to Atsumu’s (accidental) tip, Shouyou was able to put two and two together to realize early on that the murder was a joint effort, rather than a solo job. 

Meian is very impressed. Atsumu is not. 

Even though Hinata did _coax_ the truth out of Atsumu, Bokuto was such a bad liar he nearly gave away the twist of the tag team murder during two different group interrogations. Seriously, who thought it would be a good idea to have Bokuto play the bad guy? Atsumu is sure he’s physically incapable of being any shade of scheming. 

Unlike someone else he knows. 

“Keep the dress on, I’ll see you soon,” Hinata whispers as he catches Atsumu by the wrist before he can escape to ditch the maid costume. Atsumu honestly can’t stand to keep the costume on any longer. After Hinata’s visit, it had taken him at least twenty minutes to resituate his nether regions into a comfortable (if he could even call it that) position. And he’s pretty sure his feet have turned into one giant blister, thanks to the high heels. 

But the way Hinata looks at him—eyes dark and eager to finish what he started—makes Atsumu forget about the extreme discomfort of staying in the costume. If Hinata wants him to keep the costume on, he’s going to keep the fucking costume on. And yeah, his heels make the absolute loudest clicking noise as he walks down the hall to Hinata’s room, and yeah, he’s been half hard beneath his skirt for what feels like an eternity. It’s worth it, though. Tonight, his wildest dreams are finally becoming a reality. 

Atsumu knocks on the door and waits. 

There’s the sound of rustling coming from inside, then the click of the knob turning. 

Okay, so… 

In nearly every single fantasy produced by Atsumu’s inner mind theatre, he plays the dominant role. Guiding Hinata into his bed to have him settle in his lap while Atsumu ravishes the spiker’s perfect body with his hands, mouth, and teeth. Hinata always melts into him, letting Atsumu do whatever the fuck he wants and begging for more. _Harder, rougher, deeper._ Anything Atsumu has to give, Hinata wants it. And Atsumu _always_ gives him exactly what he asks for, spoiling Dream Hinata with everything that he’s got. 

A single hand jutting out from within the dimly lit dorm room to grab Atsumu by the wrist and pull him into Hinata’s room, slamming him up against the closed door, is nothing like his dreams. Hands immediately roam his body—one settling on his chest and the other beneath his skirt. While blunt nails scratch and caress the exposed skin on his chest, the hand beneath Atsumu’s skirt cups and kneads his balls—handling them so expertly that all of the breath in his body escapes him. For a fleeting moment, Astumu wonders where the fuck did Hinata learn all this? What shady, gay athlete exposed him to the finer ways of physical seduction? 

It certainly wasn’t goodie-two-shoes Kageyama, that much Atsumu is certain of. 

A warm puff of breath hits the shell of his ear. “Glad you made it here okay,” Hinata breathes, giving his balls a light squeeze. 

Atsumu gasps, high pitched and embarrassing. A jolt stemming from the pressure in his nuts (so sensitive, so unused to being manhandled) shoots throughout his entire body, making him shudder violently. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this to you, Atsumu-san,” Hinata says, and places wet, open-mouthed kisses along the column of Atsumu’s neck. 

_A really long time._

If Atsumu weren’t nearly paralyzed from Hinata’s fingers playing with his fine chest hair and slowly moving to stroke his cock through his leotard, he would take Hinata’s face in his hands and kiss him. After months of pining and longing, Hinata wants him back. Hinata has _always_ wanted him back. 

“R-really?” Atsumu says weakly as he brings his shaking arms to rest on Hinata’s shoulders. 

When Hinata pulls his lips away to look up at Atsumu, his eyes are lowered demurely and his cheeks are stained red. “Having you here, in this dress, like this...” Another firm squeeze to Atsumu’s cock that makes his voice break, punctuating Hinata’s statement. “It’d be lying if I said I didn’t get off to the thought of what I’d do to you while you were wearing it.” Despite the dim lighting, Atsumu can clearly see the look in Hinata’s eyes. The same look that he woefully misinterpreted back when they were assigned their roles for the party. 

Endless, dark pupils that engulf his irises. Not shock, but rather, _hunger._

Atsumu’s soul is literally about to leave his body. How could he have been so oblivious? 

Thank God Osamu isn’t here, he surely could have come up with a million reasons why. 

Atsumu wills himself to speak—he needs to know what’s in store for him. “What are ya plannin’ to do?” he asks, leaning down so his and Hinata’s foreheads touch. 

Hinata smiles, wide and mischievous. “Well, first, I want to get you nice and hard.” 

“I think yer doin’ a pretty good job of that,” Atsumu chuckles. 

“Thanks,” Hinata beams, so cute and so proud. “Then I want to get on my knees and pleasure you with my mouth, drink your precum and choke on you.” He slows the hand that’s stroking Atsumu’s dick, paying extra attention to outlining the wet spot forming on the leotard. 

“Will I still be w-wearin’ the dress?”

“Absolutely. You’re not taking it off until after I open you up with my fingers and mouth. Then I’m going to rip that dress off of you, bend you over, and fuck you until you’re begging to cum. Does that sound like a good plan?” Hinata nudges Atsumu’s nose with his own, leaving their lips centimeters apart.

_Fucking hell_.

“Y-yeah, that sounds pretty amazin’ to me,”' Atsumu gulps and lets himself get pulled into Hinata’s searing kiss. Not how he initially wanted his first time with Hinata to go, but he’s honestly not going to be picky. 

Hinata keeps all of his promises, starting with ripping Atsumu’s costume so the leotard bottom hangs open and pulling the fishnet stockings down around his ankles. Atsumu kicks off the high heels and tights, and hooks one of his legs over Hinata’s shoulder for support—not wanting to collapse just yet. With his head nearly hidden by the skirt, Hinata engulfs as much of Atsumu as he can into his warm, soft mouth. Atsumu groans so loud he misses the unmistakable sound of a cap being opened. And even though he wishes he could see Hinata’s beautiful face taking all of his cock, not being able to see beneath his skirt forces him to let go and just _feel._ The way Hinata’s tongue swirls around his head and prods into the slit, how his teeth lightly graze his shaft as it slides down his throat, the magically lubed up fingers that stretch him open and search for his prostate.

It’s a lot to handle while standing up. 

“Shou-kun, p-please, I… I’m gonna fall,” Atsumu begs as he feels his legs shake—an early warning sign that they’re about to give out. If Hinata finds his prostate, he’s not going to be able to keep himself up. 

Hinata slides his mouth off of Atsumu’s dick and peeks out from underneath his skirt. His lips are as pink as his cheeks and covered in saliva mixed with precum. Atsumu wants to remember his face forever—it’s perfect spank bank material. 

“Okay,” Hinata says and hops to stand. He takes Atsumu by the hand and guides him over to his bed. As they fall back into a comfortable rhythm, making out and tearing Atsumu’s costume apart so it hangs unceremoniously off his broad shoulders, Hinata shrugs out of his own party attire. 

“Lie down and pull up your skirt,” Hinata commands once he’s completely naked. Atsumu nods and does what he’s told, pulling the skirt all the way up to his chest and leaving the lower half of his body completely exposed. He watches Hinata reach for a condom. Atsumu feels his stomach drop and asshole clench in anticipation at the sound of the wrapper opening and the sight of Hinata rolling it slowly onto his thick cock. There’s no reason why he would be scared; he’s had foreign objects up his asshole before. It’s just... the objects have been just that: objects. He’s never had a living, breathing dick—let alone the living, breathing dick that belongs to his crush—inside him before. This shit is life-changing, and he doesn’t want to fuck it up somehow. 

As Hinata crawls to align himself with Atsumu’s entrance, Atsumu grips the hemline of his skirt and pulls it up to cover most of his face—a lame attempt at hiding his nerves. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Hinata asks, concern apparent in his face. 

Atsumu nods emphatically. “Oh yeah! Never better! I’m just mentally preparin’ myself is all,” he says with the skirt still pulled up to his nose. 

“ _Tsumu,”_ Hinata says his nickname, unconvinced.

“What?!” Atsumu gripes, revealing more of his face. “I’m fine! Just a little, ya know, excited.” 

“Are you sure?” Hinata raises an eyebrow. His hands are on Atsumu’s thighs, thumbs rubbing circles into them. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” 

_Don’t fuck this up, Atsumu._

“Yeah, it’s alright. It’s just… Pre-coital jitters,” he admits, staring at Hinata’s dick that’s barely centimeters away from his asshole. He can practically feel the latex tickle his rim, for fuck’s sake. 

Hinata’s face softens into a smile that Atsumu is all too familiar with (and all too fond of). Amid the warm light coming from the single lamp on his desk, Hinata looks like a fucking dream. No, better than a dream. With his soft orange hair all tousled from being beneath Atsumu’s skirt and glowing tan lines that never seem to fade—he’s everything Atsumu has ever wanted and more. Smart, confident, _beautiful,_ all rolled into one perfect human being. Even back in high school, all those years ago when they first met at the National Tournament, he knew Hinata was special. Now here they are. Seven years of pining and yearning later—finally culminating in Atsumu getting railed in a maid costume by the boy he promised to give his all to. 

Life has a funny way of working itself out. 

Hinata blushes, as if he’s the one about to get his asshole wrecked. “I promise I’ll be gentle.” 

And with that, he urges his hips forward, sinking into Atsumu’s heat. It’s agonizingly slow and the stretch of his rim is borderline painful, but Atsumu doesn’t care. He wants—no, _needs_ to get as close to Hinata as possible. To feel the unbelievable pressure of having a cock in his ass crushing him—mind, body, and soul. So he digs his heels into Hinata’s lower back and helps him reach farther, deeper than he ever could have reached on his own. 

Their teamwork truly knows no bounds. 

When Hinata finally bottoms out, chest to chest with his groin and balls flush against Atsumu’s ass-cheeks, he groans. “Atsumu-san, you’re… You’re so…” he heaves, shivering and unable to finish his sentence. 

“Amazin’? Wonderful? Sexy?” Atsumu offers breathlessly. A sudden surge of confidence washes over him, an adventurous feeling that he doesn’t want to ignore. He wraps his arms around Hinata’s torso and hugs him close, leaving no space between them. 

“ _Tight!~”_ Hinata keens and starts to move. 

His thrusts are erratic and unhinged, unlike the calm skill of his hand and mouth before. Each snap of his hips draws a string of moans and profanities out from both their lips, drowning out the sound of the Hinata’s bed creaking. Eventually Atsumu rocks his hips along with each ram of Hinata’s cock into his asshole. Their cries for each other, desperate and wanton, fill the dorm room with the most carnal noises—noises that can probably be heard from all the way down the hall.

RIP to anyone trying to get a good night’s sleep. 

Atsumu doesn’t last long, already close to the edge from the teasing Hinata put him through before. He cums hot and sticky between their sweaty torsos without warning, staining torn fabric white, and Hinata follows soon after. He gives fair warning in the form of a broken “ _I-I’m go-nn-a—!”_ as he empties himself into the condom with his face buried in Atsumu’s shoulder. 

After Hinata pulls out (and throws that nasty condom out in the waste bin near his desk) they make out lazily, legs tangled and hands exploring uncharted territory. Atsumu doesn’t even bother taking off the torn costume; it’s honestly the farthest thing from his mind at the moment. He’s got more important things to attend to. 

“So, does this mean we’re… a thing?” Atsumu asks, murmuring against Hinata’s lips with a smile. 

Hinata giggles and pecks Atsumu’s nose. “I don’t know. We can be, if you want?” There’s a glimmer of hope in his eyes, a sparkle that Atsumu wants to bottle up to light his entire world. It’s truly remarkable that Hinata wants him back. 

_Who fucking knew?_

“Of course I want.” Atsumu kisses Hinata again, pushing his tongue past Hinata’s slightly opened mouth to drag their slick muscles against one another. “I want _so bad_.” 

Hinata hums into the kiss and grinds his hips on Atsumu’s thigh, settled between Hinata’s legs, already rekindling the fire in Atsumu’s abdomen. “I’m going to have to thank Meian for actually adding the maid costume,” he says as he strokes the ripped fabric falling off of Atsumu’s shoulders. 

Atsumu rolls his eyes, “Next time, I want to see ya try to wear the maid costume.” 

Hinata’s smile widens mischievously, sending a chill down Atsumu’s spine. “Oh, I think that can be arranged.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Again, BIG THANK YOU to everyone who followed my smutober thread on twitter! You know I had to give Atsuhina their own little romp. I also want to thank dzesi and eri for also writing some AMAZING atsuhina smut all month long. They've been such an inspiration to me and I hope you both enjoy~ 
> 
> If you liked the fic, drop a kudo or comment! 
> 
> [[Support my fic! Share the twitter link]](https://twitter.com/palerosetweets/status/1322563363394752513?s=20)


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